


The Rorschach Test

by roidadidou



Category: Super Science Friends (Cartoon)
Genre: young albert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roidadidou/pseuds/roidadidou
Summary: Freud is stuck babysitting a young Albert. They find a fun way to pass the time.





	The Rorschach Test

He wasn't worried about babysitting Albert. He was a father of five; nothing would be new to him.  


It was the principle itself; the idea of having the child thrown into his room as Churchill left to attend parliament. It put a sour taste in his mouth.  


The first thing he did was pull the obscene photos off of his walls and tuck them under his bed. Though Freud believed in a different definition of indecency, he didn't want to be scolded like a schoolboy for teaching Einstein's clone about the female body.  


If the psychologist had to say one thing about the young boy, it was that he was unusually well-behaved. He was occupied simply by a stack of books and a lollipop in his mouth. He swung his legs as he sat on the swooning couch, flipping through the pages he admittedly couldn't understand. Freud decided to use the time normally, and wrote a correspondence letter at his desk.  


His pen halted when he felt a tug at his jacket. He looked down to see the boy holding one of the books in his hands. Albert pulled the sucker from his mouth, and held up an open page.  


“Mr. Freud-”  


“Herr Doktor.” Freud corrected. The boy blinked.  


“Uh… What's this?”  


On the page was a printed example of a symmetrical inkblot. It was intentionally abstract. The babysitter slowly took the book from him and examined it.  


“A Rorschach test.”  


“A test? What for?”  


“You say what you think it looks like, and it supposedly helps diagnose mental disorders. I just use them as icebreakers to learn more about my patients.”  


“You have some?”  


Freud pulled out a drawer of his desk and lifted up a small box. He opened it and showed the boy a stack of printed cards.  


“Can I try it?” Albert asked innocently.  


The man looked briefly at his letter, then decided it would get done some other time.  


“Why not,” He replied.  


The boy eagerly bounced on anxious feet back to the couch. The old man, in comparison, trailed slowly behind and took his seat in the comfortable lounge chair.  


“Alright, just say the first thing that comes to mind when I show you the cards.”  


He shuffled through them until one caught his eye; he held it up for the boy to see. Albert studied the image for a brief moment.  


“A violin.”  


“Interesting. Not a guitar?”  


“I like the fancy word better.”  


That brought a chuckle from Freud. He slipped the card to the back of the deck and held the next one up.  


“... Two people dancing.”  


“What kind of dance?” His questions, unlike his normal sessions, weren't asked to probe his client's mind. He was simply beginning to take pleasure in entertaining him.  


“Oh, uh, the one where the lady wears a red dress, and the guy has a rose in his mouth - ...” Albert stood up on the couch cushion; Freud could excuse it, because he was just in socks - and did a short, improvised dance while singing a traditional tango tune. Freud laughed at the display, then clapped for him when he was finished. Albert, in response, took a theatrical bow.  


“Okay, next one! Next one!” The child begged with a finger pointed at the deck in Freud's hands. The psychologist’s laughter calmed, and he held up the next card. The pattern continued normally.  


“A ladybug.”  


“A flower pot.”  


“A big rainstorm.”  


Between each response, he popped the sucker back into his mouth, and used one small hand gripping the stick to pull it side to side across his tongue, relishing the taste before it would eventually dissolve. Freud barely glanced at each card before holding it up, instead looking at them more closely after Albert had already identified them.  


He held one up. This time, the child's response was more urgent. After registering the inkblot, a sudden “Hmmph!” came from his throat. His legs kicked, he pulled the lollipop from his lips, and he pointed a thrashing finger at the card.  


“That - That guy - He's in my dreams!” Albert shouted. Freud's mustache fell limp with surprise.  


“Huh?”  


“He's in my dreams, speaking German, like you! Not every night - but sometimes!”  


A blended concoction of fright and shock crawled onto the man's face.  


He flipped the card over to look at it, and gasped with horror.


End file.
